


The Winner Bakes it All

by ItsTeatimeSomewhere



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Fluff, M/M, Marriage, Misunderstandings, Pining, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 06:44:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2763530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsTeatimeSomewhere/pseuds/ItsTeatimeSomewhere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Harry owns a bakery, rambles about stalking, and models his gingerbread men after blue-eyed boys. What could go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Winner Bakes it All

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hiscurlsorhissmell](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Hiscurlsorhissmell).



> Happy Holidays everyone!!!!! Thanks esp. to Meaghan who encouraged me and helped with soooooo much of this story, you're a doll!!!! Enjoy my foray into this fandom :) xoxo Mel

When he told his parents he was quitting school, Harry thought his mum would explode. Of course, she eventually calmed down and assured him that they would support him in everything he did and love him forever and all that, but Harry knows she’s never quite admired his career. Even though he owns his own bakery at twenty-two and it is one of the most successful in Soho, she always talks about Gemma’s master’s programme with longing, as if Harry’s life would be infinitely better if he were knee-deep in loans like his sister. Over the years, though, Harry had learned to tune her out, focusing on his shop and bribing her with biscuits whenever the topic of uni came up at family gatherings.

Biscuits were Harry’s specialty. When he first started working at Pipsqueak’s Bakery, a crotchety old man named Rodolfo and his sweet wife Annie owned the place. Often, Harry wondered how such a gruff man married such a cheerful woman, but it wasn’t his place to judge. After all, Rodolfo’s cannolis were perfection. As the only worker besides Annie and Rodolfo, Harry was doted on by the couple and learned all of Annie’s biscuit recipes. He was the biscuit master, the King Biscuit.

And then it all went wrong. Because it was New Year’s Eve and everyone in London seemed to be a bit tipsy, and Annie and Rodolfo were killed by a tipsy teen with a Volkswagen. They left Pipsqueaks to a grieving Harry, who soon learned that, to survive in London, one needed to know how to make more than a snickerdoodle.

That’s when Niall came in. Hours after Harry put an advert in the window, a boy with red-rimmed eyes and blonde hair knocked over two chairs before placing his crumpled resume on the counter. Harry was hesitant at first. The boy was obviously stoned and seemed careless, but his resume said he had worked at an incredibly well-regarded patisserie in France and had even won the Meilleurs Ouvriers de France for pastry making. It was hard to connect such a well-versed resume with the slacker in front of him, but Harry was desperate. Later, after he had tasted one of Niall’s petit fours, he knew he had made the right decision.

This is how it works: Niall makes the gorgeous, complex, whimsical macarons and profiteroles and mille-feuilles and canales, and Harry makes the biscuits. Niall may be more popular with most of their customers, but Harry knows that young children loved his gingerbread biscuits. He is ace at making the little biscuit men look like movie stars or kids themselves, much to the delight of Niall’s neighbours.

Their system works well, and Harry is happy at Pipsqueaks. It’s warm and wonderful and he gets to be around sweets all day. Niall makes the atmosphere vibrant, even if he maybe shows up high a few days a week. Harry considers it to be a small price to pay for meringues that fly off the shelves and a best friend.

As December rolls around, Harry and Niall are bombarded with orders for everything peppermint, chocolate, and gingerbread. Each day, Harry makes the gingerbread men look like a different person; December 1st it was Santa Claus, the next day Disney princesses, after that were the ninja turtles.  
Both Niall and Harry have been pretty focused on their craft, with little room for error, as the holiday season approaches, so it’s surprising when Niall knocks an entire tray of madelines to the ground. Harry, having been focused on his gingerbread men (today’s theme was Peter Pan), whips his head around at the crash of the tray on the floor that follows the soft tinkle of the doorbell.

“Niall, are you ok?” he asks, rushing to the side of his beet-red friend.

“Um, yeah, sorry ‘bout that. Uh, I’ll go get more madelines, eh, sorry again. Bye.” Without making eye contact at either Harry or the man who had just entered, Niall rushes away, leaving madelines scattered across the floor in his wake.

“Is, er, is he ok?” The man asks quietly, and when Harry gets his first good look at the guy, he understands why he had made Niall so jittery. He is absolutely gorgeous. His hazel eyes are framed by cartoonishly long eyelashes, and Harry thinks that he could probably make cookie cutters from this guy’s cheekbones. His hair is artfully styled into a quiff, and even his outfit (motocycle boots, black skinny jeans and gray sweater) looks like it belongs on a runway.

“Yeah, uh, he forgot something?” Harry stutters, knowing he is a terrible liar even when not speaking to some sort of Greek god.

“Zayn!” A new voice shouts from behind the man, “have you frightened more poor workers with your Adonis-like features?”

As Harry faces the man walking through the door, he wonders why so many beautiful people have entered his bakery today, and thanks whatever higher powers that are responsible for it. This second man has piercing blue eyes and swirling brown hair, the dusting of stubble on his jaw emphasizes his sharp cheekbones and delicately rugged features.

Harry can’t deal.

“Oh dear, you dropped a bunch of little hand biscuits! Sorry, mate,” the newcomer says, bending down to pick up some of the remaining madelines.

“Eh, no, those are madelines…” Harry replies hesitantly.

“Of course, darling.” The man stands up, shoving a few madelines into Harry’s hands. “Now, who do I see about some biscuits? Perhaps some that aren’t named after French children's book characters?”

Harry smiles and gives a little wave. “That’d be me. Uh, hi, I’m Harry and welcome to Pipsqueaks?”

“I’m told by a reliable source--”

“My little sister,” Zayn interrupts the man, earning an elbow nudge from his friend.

“--that you make the best biscuits in London?”

Harry just shrugs and the boy grins. “Great! In that case, I need twelve biscuits that tween girls will like."

"Ok, I'll be right back," Harry replies, hastily stepping behind the counter to grab a few flower-shaped shortbreads.

"Holy shit! Are those Peter Pan biscuits?" The man exclaims, examining the other biscuits on display, "I need, like, ten of those."

Harry nods again, praying that Niall will come back out and save him from himself.

“Sorry about that!” Niall shouts, returning from the kitchen. “Now what can Harry and I--”

“Uh, Niall, I’ve got to go get the...y’know...them...oven,” Harry stutters, shoving the half-filled box of biscuits into Niall’s hand. “Can you, uh, help these gentlemen?”

Niall frowns, but takes the box. Without waiting for an answer, Harry runs into the kitchen, trying not to breathe too heavily. Of course, the one time a cute boy walks into the store without an equally cute girl on his arm, Harry makes a complete twat of himself.

He waits there until he hears the two men thank Niall for his help and the door bell chimes again, signalling their departure. Then he waits another minute, just to be sure that they’re definitely gone. Maybe one more minute after that. Just in case. Once Harry is definitely sure the two men had left, he creeps out to the counter to see Niall laughing at his obvious crush. Harry doesn’t think it’s very fair, considering Niall hadn’t been much better, but he decides not to push the matter.

❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅

Over the next few days, Harry forgets about the blue-eyed man. Well, forget really isn’t the right word. Truthfully, Harry simply occupies his mind with as much as possible to try and shove any thoughts of caramel hair and raspy voices out of his head. He focuses on tampering with his gingersnap recipe and hanging up fairy lights across the windows. Niall, on the other hand, focuses on Zayn, who continues to pop in regularly, never buying anything.

Every day, without fail, Niall gives Zayn one of his best pastries with a wink, assuring him that it’s “on the house.”

Then he watches him take it to a table in the corner and…not eat it. Niall always watches from behind the counter, and Zayn never eats his pastries. Not once.  
The third time this happens, Niall corners Harry in the kitchen.  
“Listen to me, Harry” he says. “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach and if I can’t get anything in Zayn’s stomach,” he continues dramatically, grasping Harry’s face in his hands in desperation, “How am I supposed to capture his heart?”

Harry gently removes Niall’s hands from his face.

“Not sure, mate,” he replies, “but I think you might be reading too far into it. Zayn is obviously interested in you if he keeps coming back every day, even if he’s not eating anything. Maybe he’s just not a dessert guy” he finishes with a shrug, turning back to his mixing bowl.

Harry’s words do little to reassure his best friend, and the bottle of cupcake wine they share at Harry’s flat after closing doesn’t help much either. Harry has no idea what he can do; he’s not known for his romantic endeavours. His last boyfriend was a prat named Chuck who wasn’t very fond of Harry’s “poofer” job. But, drunk-Harry knows quite a bit about seduction.

“Noooooo, Niall,” Harry whispers into his ear, “you gotta…y’just gotta make it…” he drew it out until there was adequate suspense, “…better.”

Niall nods at this sage wisdom. “I c’n make a rad desert, he’s gonna be sooooo impressed. He’s gonna…he’s gonna marry me!” Niall crows.

Harry nods, grinning. “Marriage, it’s gonna be a b-beautiful wedding!” he sighs at the image. Niall is so lovely, so wonderful. Harry tells him as much.  
Niall giggles into his drink. “I’m gonna make the best stuff ever!” he declares, pumping a fist into the air. Harry just smiles. This is going to work out perfectly.

❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅

Of course, the next morning, it doesn’t seem so perfect. Harry’s hung over and barely has time to pull a hat on his head before rushing to start the baking for the day. Really, who decided bakers wake up at three in the morning? Satan, that’s who.

Niall arrives after Harry has the first batch of snickerdoodles in the oven, muttering a greeting and handing over a massive carton of coffee. Harry can always count on Niall to pull through.

Niall sets off making a batch of marjolaines with spun sugar to top them off. Each layer is precise and Harry watches Niall worry his lip all morning, perfecting the dessert. He proudly displays them on the top shelf as they open for business, taking pride in the compliments of each individual customer.

And then Zayn walks in, smiling at Niall. Harry observes them stealthily, pretending to organize the palmiers into the shape of a butterfly.

“Here,” Niall says, grinning. “It’s on the house, as usual. Marjolaines, a French cake, it’s rather delicious.” He hands Zayn the best-looking cake of the batch, nodding as Zayn thanks him.

Zayn then proceeds to walk to his usual table, set the marjolaine down, and pull out his phone. Niall and Harry watch for a good half hour, and Zayn doesn’t touch the delicacy once. Harry is furious.

“Who does he think he is?” Harry fumes while they’re closed for lunch. “I mean, you’re the best pastry chef in the country! And he doesn’t even want to try it? God, what a prick.Even if he’s not a dessert guy, it’s common courtesy at this point. ”

“Harry, calm down.” Niall runs a hand through Harry’s hair. “I mean, it’s not the end of the world. Yeah, he was hot, but I’ll bet there’s a hotter guy out there. Probably. Somewhere. ”

Harry’s thoughts drift to Zayn’s blue-eyed friend, who hadn’t been back to the bakery since the first visit. He quickly snaps his thoughts back to the Niall-and-Zayn situation though.

“How could he not be a dessert guy? You deserve a dessert guy, Niall. Everyone’s a dessert guy! Or…girl, or…person. Yeah. Everyone’s a dessert person!”

Niall just sighs and leave the kitchen.

❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅

The next time Zayn comes in, Niall gives him a pastry as usual—this time a delicate choux pastry from the massive croquembouche sitting on top of the counter, and Zayn grins—as usual. But when he puts the pastry down on the table and pulls out his phone, Niall’s smile drops and he trudges into the kitchen, muttering something about dishes to Harry. It’s the final straw.

Harry stalks over to Zayn, frowning. “Excuse me?” He asks, politely of course. Harry is nothing if not polite. “I noticed that you didn’t eat your pastry—again—and it’s starting to piss me off, because Niall works really hard on those and you’re wasting them, and he’s really upset, and he made that especially for you! I mean, do you know how hard a croquembouche is to make? He had to make all those little crème puffs! And then stick them together! And he even made it coffee-flavored because he sees you with coffee all the time and thought maybe you didn’t like other flavors or something. He put so much effort into this, and you treat it like trash! Why would—“

“Harry,” Zayn interrupts, putting a hand on Harry’s wildly gesturing arm. “You’ve got it all wrong.” He laughs awkwardly.

“Oh yeah? Then why don’t you eat anything?”

“I’m gluten intolerant. I can’t eat pastries. But, like you said, Niall puts so much work into these that it seems rude to not take them, yeah? Sorry if it didn’t come across that way” he rubs the back of his neck.

Before Harry responds, he hears from behind him: “What the fuck?” Turning, he sees a shocked Niall holding another choux pastry. “You’re gluten free?”

Zayn nods, confused, and Harry gets out of the way.

“So, if I made gluten-free pastries, you would eat them?” Niall continues, moving closer.

“Yeah, I mean, I like dessert as much as the next guy,” Zayn begins, but is cut off by Niall pressing a kiss to his lips. Harry takes another step back.

“Sorry,” Niall says, separating from Zayn a few inches, “I just…why didn’t you fucking say something, you idiot!?” but kisses Zayn again before he can respond.

Harry is happy for his best friend, but selfishly wonders when he’ll get to have his own fairy-tale moment.

❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅

With Niall’s new relationship in full bloom, things change around Pipsqueaks. First of all, Niall learns to perfect gluten-free versions of all his pastries, drawing in a new crowed of hipsters who all declare themselves to be gluten-free (Zayn assures Harry that it’s an actual medical issue, he’s not just in it for the fad). Also, Zayn spends more and more time at the bakery, sometimes bringing along his friend, who Harry learns is called Louis.

And Louis, Harry imagines, is the best thing to come out of this new relationship. The beautiful man now comes in at least once a week to get a pack of biscuits for his little sisters (he babysits them! Harry is swooning. There’s nothing he likes more than a cute boy except maybe children). Sometimes he hangs around a makes small talk with Niall and laughs with Zayn, but he only ever talks to Harry while picking out biscuits. Harry chalks this up to nothing more than his own incompetence, as he is always bright red and stuttering when Louis walks in.

And as Louis weaves his way into the little bakery life, he also weaves his way into the biscuits. Harry has a biscuit for each of his friends, although he doesn’t make them every day. Niall has a Bailey’s-flavoured sugar biscuit, his mum delights in a lemon biscuit, and Zayn has become a fan of his coffee-flavoured snickerdoodles. Louis, though, doesn’t seem to have one. Not for lack of effort on Harry’s part, though. Nothing seems to fit the angelic man. He’s too bright to be chocolate, too raspy to be caramel, too cool to be red velvet. Harry’s running out of options, and it’s almost Christmas.

It comes to him as if in a premonition, although not in the way Harry would like. However, Harry has never been one for subtlety. One day, as he sets about making the gingerbread men Niall brings up the sudden new design on the biscuits.

“Hey, mate, why’re you making gingerbread men that look like Louis?” Niall asks, carrying through a tray of perfect-as usual-profiteroles.

Harry scoffs, looking down at...the gingerbread with blue eyes and side swept brown hair.

They even had little black t-shirts on.

“I-wh-I mean, w-what the-?” Harry stutters, looking at the tens of gingerbread men he had already decorated. He couldn’t throw away all these biscuits, it would take ages to make more! “I can’t believe this is happening,” he moans as Niall laughs hysterically.

Soldering himself up, Harry swallows and puts the biscuits in the display, praying that Louis doesn’t come back today of all days.

At first, it seems like his prayers are answered. A few people ask him who the gingerbread men are today, and he has to make up some odd story about a friend’s birthday, but other than that it’s rather uneventful.

Until the afternoon, when a little girl walks in followed by Louis. Harry thought he was in the clear, even Zayn didn’t show up! But of course, the fates are working against him. His face is immediately flushed. Desperately, he tries to stand in front of the case holding the gingerbread men, putting on a-hopefully non-manic-smile for the pair.

“H-hi, welcome to Pipsqueaks! I’m Harry, although I guess you already know that, unless you forgot, I mean, why would you forget? Like, that seems odd, since you’ve been here so often. Uh, but like not in a creepy way! I haven’t noticed you here more than usual, like I barely notice you at all. But you’re very noticeable, just, I mean, I’m not stalking you, I promise! It’s just, I—“

Thankfully, his awkward rambling was cut off by a shriek. “Louis!” the little girl cried, “these gingerbread biscuits look just like you!” She shoves Harry out of the way ungracefully, and Harry gives an awkward little laugh.

“What’d’ya mean, Daisy?” Louis asks, smiling.

“Look! They’ve got eyes and hair that look like you! And even little black shirts! You love black shirts!” Daisy tugs Louis’ hand so he can inspect the biscuits, much to Harry’s dismay.

“You’re...right,” Louis says cautiously. “Harry, dear, why do the gingerbread men look like me? Unless you have another customer who fancies black tees…”

Harry splutters, looking around for a distraction from the awkward situation and avoiding Louis’ gaze. “Well, er, it was...um, I mean-Niall! Niall has a massive crush on you, and he wanted me to make these! Uh, for you!”

Louis smirks. “He made them for me? Our Niall, as in the man who is dating Zayn?” And oh, it is so unfair that Louis tries to imitate his voice in a deep octave, which just makes him more attractive. Harry is in trouble.

“Er, yeah, I mean, well…” Harry is at a loss. He can’t say anything without sounding like a creepy stalker, so he does what seems to be the only logical solution: he runs.  
  
Once the doors to the kitchen close, Harry leans against the wall, ignoring Niall’s odd looks. “Leave me alone,” he moans, “I’ve just ruined any chance I had with Louis.”  
  
“Wait, he saw the biscuits?” Niall barks out a laugh. “Mate, that’s awful luck. But, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad…”  
  
“I left him out there without helping him. I also told him you made the biscuits because of your massive crush on him.”  
  
“Oh shit…”  
  
“Yeah. I’m ruined.”  
  
Niall puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, I’ll go talk to him, tell him you’re not actually batshit, just a bit nervous.”  
  
Harry grins up at his friend. “You’re a lifesaver, Niall.”  
  
Once he’s sure Louis is gone and has composed himself, Harry reenters the front area, back to selling biscuits like a pro. It was a minor setback, and he’ll apologise profusely the next time Louis comes to the bakery—if he returns at all, that is.  
  
❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅

Its two days before Louis returns, and Harry wishes Niall would give him some warning. After all, it was the one day he spills flour all over his apron and shirt, making his previously-artful black shirt now look like he snorts cocaine too often. And then Louis walks in looking like a god, and Harry just can’t take it.  
  
“Uh, give me a second, I’ve gotta do something, but I’ll be right back,” he mutters, turning to walk into the kitchen before a hand grabs his arm. It’s such a tiny hand. Louis is so tiny and perfect Harry just can’t deal with it.  
  
“It can wait, Harry,” Louis says, firmly turning him around. It’s then when Harry yanks his eyes away from the beautiful blue ones to see the white package in Louis’ hands. “I got you a gift.”  
  
Harry is confused, but he takes the box regardless. He had absolutely no idea what to expect. It could be anything. And he was expecting anything…  
  
…Anything except a big shortbread biscuit from Tesco with two green m&m’s for eyes, a red licorice mouth, and mini chocolate chips for hair. It’s cheaply-made, that’s for sure, but there’s no mistaking who it’s supposed to be.  
  
“As you can see,” Louis says proudly, “You’re not the only artist here.” He grins. “However, I don’t think you should eat it, as the biscuit has been sitting in our kitchen for a few weeks. Apparently now that you bake no one wants the good ol’ Tesco biscuits.”  
  
Harry is incapable of speech. Is this Louis making fun of him? “If this is a joke, I’m sorry about those gingerbread men, okay? I didn’t mean to, and I’m sorry if they upset you.” He looks down at his feet.  
  
“What?” Louis grabs his chin gently, forcing Harry to look him in the eye. “No, this is me asking you out on a date. I’m creative and fun and also dead sexy, so you should go out with me.”  
  
“I, um, what?”  
  
“Wait, you’re interested in me, right? Niall said you had a crush but he might’ve been lying, I don’t know…”  
  
“No,” Harry interrupts, “I’m definitely interested in you, I mean, and you’re just — ugh. Yes, I would like to go on a date with you? I don’t, whatever. Yes, yes please.” Wow. If Louis didn’t think he was a dork before, this definitely seals the deal.  
  
But, Louis isn’t looking at him oddly. No, he’s smiling. Like he thinks that Harry is—  
  
“—cute. You’re very cute. Say, seven tomorrow night? I can pick you up here, if you’d like.”  
  
Harry just nods. He seems to have run out of words.  
  
“Very well.” Louis leans forward and presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek. “See you then, gingerbread boy.”  
  
❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅❅

Three Years Later:  
  
It turns out perfectly. Harry had spent hours and hours agonizing over every little detail, but when it all comes together, he can’t find a single thing wrong.  
  
Of course, literally until he walked down the aisle, Harry was neck-deep in stressful details, but once he saw Louis at the alter, it all washed away. The fear of not enough napkins, the problematic open bar, even the trust he put in Niall to get the cake, it’s all gone. All he needs is Louis, and to be married to him.  
  
Fairy lights line the aisle and Harry can hear some ladies cooing as he grins like a loon at his fiancé. Niall and Zayn, who had eloped three months prior, stood on either side of Louis, winking at Harry. Niall had insisted on wearing a bright-pink suit to match Gemma’s dress, and Harry wasn’t one to argue. Everyone looks so lovely, but no one compares to Louis.  
  
Louis whose hair was swept just like it had been all those years ago, Louis who had made him laugh and cry and smile and dance, Louis who he would spend forever with. What could be better?  
  
Harry doesn’t listen to much of what the preacher says. When Louis gets to his vows, however, Harry is blown away. He manages to fit in nearly eight baking puns, interspersed with the sweetest thing Harry has ever heard him say. It’s too much. Harry is going to marry this man and it’s more than he ever hoped for.  
  
Harry forgets his vows. Typical. But for improvisation, they’re surprisingly lovely, and he spots a few tears pooling in Louis’ eyes. He kisses them away, of course, and now they’re married. Harry feels relief wash through his body, as if he’s peaked and there is nowhere better to go.  
As they walk towards the reception, Harry spots the cake. Niall had baked an incredible layered cake with strawberry (Harry’s favourite) and pineapple (Louis’ favourite) fillings, which Louis had moaned over, turning Harry’s face red and making his pants a bit too tight at the tasting. And on top of the cake stood two gingerbread men; one with green eyes, one with blue, both with massive smiles on their faces.


End file.
